


It's Weird How They All Have the Same Last Name

by innie



Category: Blades of Glory (2007)
Genre: Character fantasizes about getting married, F/M, Families of Choice, Friend Basically Part of the Marriage at This Point, Gen, Male Friendship, Virginity, Watching a friend/family member get married, beach wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie
Summary: Jimmy swore to himself that if he and Katie ever got to the point of making love, he would not be wearing aChazzercize!condom at that magical moment.
Relationships: Jimmy MacElroy & Chazz Michaels, Jimmy MacElroy & Coach (Blades of Glory), Jimmy MacElroy & Jesse (Blades of Glory), Jimmy MacElroy/Katie Van Waldenberg, Katie Van Waldenberg & Jesse (Blades of Glory)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	It's Weird How They All Have the Same Last Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



> I'm just sad I couldn't get the sublimely stupid Stranz, my favorite character, in here somehow.

"So, like, are the Sno Cones _ironic_?" Jimmy heard Chazz ask from the top bunk. He'd gotten home from a date with Katie and been too lovestruck to want to wash the blue off his tongue, so he'd crashed in his bed and somehow Chazz had seen it though their room was dark enough that his white sheets almost glowed in the faint beam of the nightlight.

"What?" Maybe Chazz was wearing those night-vision goggles he'd mentioned once.

"Like, A, are you trying to get Katie ready for the big reveal? And two, do you have a Sno Cone down there instead of a wang?" Chazz sounded honestly curious. And he definitely didn't understand irony.

"What, why would you say that?" Jimmy could smell blue raspberry on his own indignant huff as he sat up. Indignantly.

"No, I've lifted you by your dong," Chazz said, evidently talking to himself more than to Jimmy. "Brother, have you ever used your baloney pony the way that Sweet Lady God intended?"

He was _not_ going to delve into Chazz's bizarre theology at this point. "What are you even talking about?" he asked, feeling a little adrenaline flow through him, just when he was looking forward to sleep. His pillow was as soft as Katie's warm body, and hugging it pretty much guaranteed good dreams.

"I'm asking why your coy lady hasn't been by to take a good long look at the ceiling. Or, I guess, the ass of my bunk."

"What?"

"Why haven't you screwed that pooch six ways from Sunday? Eaten baby-back ribs off her rack, baby? Done some tongue-ular investigation of her lovely lady lumps?"

"I literally have no idea what you're saying." He was awake now, anyway, so he decided to brush his teeth while Chazz attempted English. He shuffled to the bathroom, blinking uselessly against the flood of light when he flipped the switch.

"You need to sex that girl up," Chazz said, helpfully limiting himself to words of one syllable and even getting them sort of in the right order.

He choked on his toothpaste when he whirled around, but Chazz was already snoring and the sheet was slipping enough that Jimmy had to avert his eyes to see as little as possible of the hairy rump that was, somehow, winning the staring contest.

*

Armed with the best diffuser Macy's stocked and a hair dryer that Chazz said was hung like a horse — which Jimmy assumed was meant to convey something about the motor's horsepower — he stood in front of the bathroom mirror once again. He seemed to do a lot of his best thinking in here. 

He attached the diffuser to the hair dryer and got to work, the softly cascading movement of blond curls hypnotically soothing.

He didn't think Chazz would make fun of him on purpose — not anymore, anyway — but he also wasn't dying to parade his ignorance about what it took to _sex up a girl_ in front of a man who routinely had orgies. And won medals for them, plus had a brand of prophylactics named in his honor. Jimmy swore to himself that if he and Katie ever got to the point of making love, he would not be wearing a _Chazzercize!_ condom at that magical moment.

Katie was the first person he'd met that he wanted to kiss, to hold, to touch. When he was with her, it was like his heart was somehow both filling up and spilling over. When he did get to kiss her lips, hold her hand, touch her hair, he'd never been so purely happy, not even when he was landing a triple salchow.

Sex with her might be too much to take, like cleanly landing a quadruple axel: not for a mere mortal like him. But Katie was worth losing his balance over, wasn't she? Unless Coach Robert said that being in training meant no sex, like other coaches on the tour sometimes did. Maybe Coach was the right person to ask about how to do sex. Jimmy nodded at his reflection, pleased when the perfect halo of curls moved delicately like underwater plants and then settled gently into place.

Coach was watching something pastel-colored on the Food Network but didn't seem to mind being interrupted. "Coach," Jimmy said, sinking down onto the sofa's least battered cushion; there was no way he was messing with Chazz's ass-groove in the left-most cushion. "If I wanted to . . . take things further with Katie, what advice would you give me?"

Coach peered out at him from beneath overgrown eyebrows, looking surprised and impressed. That was _nice_ ; he didn't think he'd impressed Coach since they'd pulled off the Iron Lotus. "Attaboy," Coach said, clapping him on the back. "So, how far have you gotten?"

This might have been a mistake, because he didn't want to say stuff that he was pretty sure should be private. He wasn't going to talk about how soft her tongue was, or the way she kind of gasped the one time he touched her breast — a few drops of her cherry red Sno Cone had dripped onto her shirt and he'd licked a napkin and gone after the color so it wouldn't stain — or how his penis felt stiffer than a skate blade when she looked at him with that little smile. "Um, kissing and stuff."

"Shy, is she?" Coach rocked back and considered. "Yeah, poor kid's probably got a lot of trauma to work through, coming from that family. Well, slow and steady's gonna win this race for you, Jimmy."

Coach gave him a significant look that Jimmy had literally no idea how to interpret. "What race?"

"You never . . . yeah, I guess that makes sense, when were you not on the ice with your asshole germaphobic father watching you," Coach mumbled, and Jimmy was a little tired of people dropping conversations with him to muse to themselves. "Well, look, all you need is a little practice. I'll get you a pie next time I'm at the market."

A _pie_? "For energy?" The sugar rush wasn't going to do him any favors, and honestly, he'd thought Coach might pick up a package of condoms and whatever other supplies were needed because he had no idea how to research any of this.

"Oh, son, you have _no idea_ how good an apple pie feels around your dick." Jimmy felt like he'd been frozen in place. "Cherry's even better, but you have to work your way up to those heights."

He had to unstick his mouth. "Fruit pie, really?"

"Well, when we were in London, there were some pork pies that really did the trick —"

"Thanks, Coach! Bye, Coach!" he called, glad that he was used to running sprints in practice.

*

Jesse was the one he should have turned to ages ago — he wouldn't have had to hear Chazz's increasingly upsetting slang terms for genitalia, and he wouldn't have had to avoid the kitchen or Coach's whispers of _don't hurt her feelings, Jimmy_ and gestures toward whatever pie was cooling on the counter-top.

Jesse was wearing a big delighted smile, and Jimmy, glad to have explained his situation, smiled back. "I didn't know you were going to propose!" Jesse said, his hands making pretty shapes in the air like excited butterflies. The peacock paled in comparison, honestly, gold medals notwithstanding.

"N-no," he tried, and Jesse grabbed his shoulders with a grip like the meanest masseur Jimmy had ever suffered under. 

"I _know_ you weren't going to ask me what to do with a naked lady," Jesse said, giving him a shake.

"Ri-right," he agreed, a little dizzy.

"I can't believe Chazz is letting you get advice from anyone but him," Jesse said, finally releasing his death-grip. "But once you're good with sex, come back to me and we'll plan out the perfect wedding."

A wedding — being married to _Katie_ — sounded so good that he almost didn't mind coming home to find that Chazz had stolen his sheets to make a sort of toga and was trying to sit pretzel-legged in what was basically a voluminous skirt.

"What are you even doing?" he asked, going to his dresser and pulling out a spare set of sheets so he could make up the bottom bunk again; he wouldn't put it past Chazz to be naked under all that swaddling cloth, and he definitely didn't need to be sleeping on a surface that Chazz's _baloney pony_ had neighed all over.

"I AM YOUR GURU," Chazz bellowed, giving up on the pose of enlightenment and sprawling so that he looked like an octopus caught in a collapsed tent. "I know everything there is to know about sex! I invented half the moves on Urban Dictionary!" He gave a frustrated wriggle and Jimmy heard a rip and then a sigh. "Why haven't you asked me, brother?"

"I —" Jimmy started and then stopped.

"I've tickled, I've slapped, I've humped, I've stacked, I've pumped, I've dumped, I've moved, I've grooved, I've —"

"I know!" Jimmy said before the beat of those disgusting words could get him dancing. He never knew how many synonyms for sex there were. "But Katie's different. She's special."

"I've got some experience with her too, if you recall," Chazz said. "She's got some sweet handfuls. Wait, is it _handsful_? Like _attorneys general_?" 

"What?"

"I've got a feud on with more than one," Chazz explained.

"Wait, don't give me any details," Jimmy said, trying to steer the conversation back to Katie, "but . . ."

"Brother, she smells good and she feels firm and you should plow that field and plant your seed and sing _high ho the derry-o_ all damn day," Chazz said, and for once Jimmy was glad of his ridiculous euphemisms.

"Okay, sure . . ."

"What am I saying, you'll see those jugs and that hoo-ha and you'll know exactly what to do. It's what you were _born_ to do. Nail Katie."

That was reductive, and not really that helpful, but Chazz's obscene gestures were kind of illuminating. Jimmy found he couldn't really concentrate on them without half his brain turning back to the idea of marrying the most perfect woman in the world.

"You've got an ex-wife," he said, suddenly remembering old Chazz gossip. "How'd you propose?"

"The Lone Wolf did not _propose_. Sheila and I reached the eye of our sex tornado and, under a full moon, suckled at each other's teats until we were truly two halves of the same being." Chazz was actually wearing a wistful smile as he reminisced.

That sounded extremely unofficial, meteorologically unsound, and grossly unhygienic, and Jimmy thought he should just buy a ring that Katie would like as the first step.

*

The ring — a silver band with one big teardrop-shaped pink stone that was exactly the color of Katie's lips before her first slurp of a cherry Sno Cone — was safely on Katie's finger when Jimmy got back home. Coach was baking up a storm, so he sidled quickly past the kitchen to get to the safety of his room. Chazz was draped across the top bunk and poring over his Verticoli manual as if the words might have magically changed from Italian to fifth-grade English.

On his own neatly made lower bunk was a plain white envelope that carried a very familiar seal and a lot of official-looking stamps. It had been four years but he still recognized his father's swooping script and black ink flecked with gold. All it said on the front was _JAMES_ , which was a little formal, but still, being on a first-name basis had to be good.

He picked it up and looked up at Chazz, who was murmuring Italian and performing maneuvers with an invisible brush, his wrist flexing dramatically. "It's from my dad," he said, wanting to share such a big moment.

" _Papa_ ," Chazz intoned, though it'd been years since either of them had seen Darren MacElroy.

"What do you think it is?" The envelope didn't feel particularly heavy, but it could still contain a letter welcoming him back, or a check for wedding expenses, or a note assuring him that the clean break was over and that Katie would be a dynamite addition to the MacElroy family.

"This is why I always say: clothing optional," Chazz said, taking the envelope and ripping it open without ceremony. "There. Now you can read your naked letter. No more wondering."

Jimmy grinned at him and unfolded the thick sheet of paper. In glittering ink, the words that reminded him he'd been cast out, disowned, and banished stood out from the page; Darren MacElroy was now contesting his right to the MacElroy name, both professionally and personally. How . . . how could he do that? After all this time? What was the point, other than hurting him?

Jimmy only realized he'd sunk down to sit on the lower bunk when Chazz vaulted from the top one, snatched the letter out of his hand, and read it (lips moving, of course). The heavy paper crumpled like cloth, without crinkling, in Chazz's mighty fist. "On the one hand, I gotta admire the dude's commitment to being petty. He's like Tom Petty and these words are The Heartbreakers. But on the other, fuck that guy. He doesn't know what _family_ means. We are the lone wolf and the other wolf. _We_ are family. I got all my sisters and me." Jimmy looked up but Chazz was a little blurry through his tears. All he knew was that a big dark shape was coming toward him and then he was scooped up in a hug. He buried his face in Chazz's neck, inhaled the scents of aftershave and taco meat, and hugged back.

*

Jesse ignored all of his questions about what the wedding was actually going to entail, saying only that he and Katie had planned every detail out and Jimmy just had to show up and do exactly what he was told. "Jimmy," Jesse said, hands on his hips and Jimmy really didn't know how things had escalated so quickly, "she asked me to walk her down the aisle; she doesn't have family anymore, and someone needs to be on her squad, so just let her have this and stop asking questions you know I'm not going to answer."

"But -"

"Your wedding and honeymoon are completely planned out and will be beautiful. Just relax. Now show me the routine again, because we've got a gold to defend and you and Chazz might have a mind-meld now but neither one of you's been on any kind of a diet in far too long."

It was true, and Jimmy guiltily flashed back to the new evening routine that had been established after he'd followed Chazz's advice and metaphorically taken a dump on his stupid former dad. They'd rolled up to a courthouse and Jimmy had become a Michaels with a few forms and a hundred-dollar bill; when they'd gotten home, Jimmy had looked at his new self in the bathroom mirror and seen that Jimmy Michaels looked happier than Jimmy MacElroy ever had on his best day, and he owed it to his new brother. He emerged triumphantly from the bathroom like it was a chrysalis, and saw that Chazz had turned on the TV, found a _Designing Women_ marathon, and opened a bag of potato chips. 

Jimmy stood behind him and began dragging the Verticoli through Chazz's lustrous hair, employing the wrist-swoops he'd seen Chazz testing out, and Chazz basically melted into the couch. Jimmy braced himself for obscene praise heavily featuring the state of Chazz's wiener, but instead Chazz reached into the bag and held one perfect chip up to Jimmy's mouth. They got through all of season one that way, alternating chips while getting Chazz's hair super silky, and they'd had too good a time to not keep the party going the next night, or the night after, and maybe Jesse was right and they both needed to stop with the chips before neither one of them was at all aerodynamic.

Or didn't fit into their suits for the wedding.

*

"Your lady is crossing things off her bucket list like nobody's business," Chazz said in his ear, as they waited at the altar that seemed pretty precariously balanced in the sand. "A beach wedding means beach honeymoon, and you haven't lived until you've got sand in your crack that you're still washing out three weeks later." Jimmy found his hand and squeezed, because otherwise he'd blurt out that he still hadn't figured out sex, and then Chazz squeezed back and said, "Damn, she is smoking hot. And not a whore."

Katie had emerged from the little tent on Jesse's arm, and she was wearing a white dress that Jimmy would have thought — had he not personally experienced the wonder of boob tape because some of his costumes had been more revealing than the Peacock — was held up only by magic. There were little pink flowers in her hair and she looked like she was floating on bare feet toward him.

"I am so glad I'm marrying you," he said as soon as she was close enough to hear.

"I'm glad too," she said, looking at him with those big eyes, and then at Chazz, who'd pulled a black handkerchief from somewhere out of his powder-blue suit and was blubbing shamelessly into it while nodding vehemently. "Thank you," she said to Jesse, who was wet-eyed too, but managed to kiss her cheek and sit without jostling a single flower. Jimmy couldn't stop staring at her, his almost-wife. "And remember," she whispered softly in his ear, before Coach started the ceremony, "this is just the party. We've still got an after-party only for us." That was when Jimmy jumped the gun and kissed her. She still became Katie Michaels twenty minutes later.

*

There were a million reasons for marrying Katie, and this was maybe his favorite: he didn't have to figure out anything about sex, because she had it _down_. She was a champion, the goldest gold medalist, and just before he blacked out from pleasure, he heard his own voice saying, "Six point _ohhhhhhhhhhh_."


End file.
